Northwest Adventure: Classic Liberties

[Bill Wright]

Northwest Adventure: Classic Liberties

Here is the writeup from my recent climbing adventure in
Washington. For those with any interest...

WARNING: This is an obscenely long post. I got carried away.
Sorry for the wasted bandwidth, but I received positive responses
from my previous postings of this type.

LIBERTY RIDGE
Near the end of June a diverse band of climbers were assembled into a
team to attempt three classic routes in the Cascades of Washington
state. The team met at SeaTac airport on June 26th and it consisted of:

Lou Lorber: The Loobster. My local climbing partner.
Residence: Gilroy, CA.
Jim Merritt: The Puffaw. Peak bagger extraordinaire.
Has climbed all 54 Colorado 14er's.
Residence: Boulder, Colorado.
Tom Karpeichik: Hardly Manson. Local liaison.
Residence: Seattle, Washington.
Myself: Team leader
Residence: San Jose, CA

This was the same team that, a year earlier, had attempted Liberty
Ridge and was turned back due to bad weather and unconsolidated
snow. We had returned this year with three objectives: Liberty Ridge
on the North Face of Mt.Rainier, Liberty Crack on the East Face of
Liberty Bell Mountain, and the West Ridge of Forbidden Peak. Many
of you will recognize all three of these climbs as "50 Classic Climbs."
Yes, I am a pursuer of these climbs. Many people like to berate this
arbitrary list but having done twenty, of them I can attest to the fact
that they are indeed "classic" climbs. Most people who put them
down either haven't done them or seek to elevate their position by
lowering another's. Sorry about the tirade. I will get off my soapbox...

We drove from the airport to Ipsut Creek campground at 2300 feet.
Last year we approached from White River via St. Elmo's Pass and a
traverse of the Emmons Glacier and Curtis Ridge. This is the usual
approach because you start two thousand feet higher, but I opted
against this approach on our second attempt for three reasons:

1.) We had already done that approach and wanted to explore
a different area.
2.) Going over St. Elmo's last year sucked because the trail
into Glacier Basin had been partially wiped out, St. Elmo's pass had a
very high avalanche danger, and lower Curtis Ridge is the widest
ridge known to mankind.
3.) It would be so much cooler to start at 2300 feet and have
the climb gain over 13,000 vertical feet (including the 800 foot climb
to Columbia Crest from the saddle.)

I recommend this approach. It is quite direct and not much more
work than the St. Elmo's approach.

We threw up the tents in the glow of twilight, marvelling at how light
it as at 9 p.m. The next morning we organized our gear and packed
up. When Jim and Tom went back to the ranger hut to sign us in for
our climb, Lou and I busied ourselves watching a persistent chipmunk
trying to steal Tom's bagel. The chipmunk would pick up the bagel,
which was bigger than the chipmunk itself, and scamper off with it.
We kept retrieving it from him and Lou remarked, "What an amazing
creature a chipmunk would be if it was the size of a bear. Could you
imagine it? It could pick up our entire basecamp and make off down
the glacier with it!"

We started hiking around 8 a.m. with our monster packs. We all
carried snowshoes and never needed them. As Lou says, "The only
thing worse than renting snowshoes, carrying them and not using
them; is using them." We didn't carry them up the ridge but left them
at our Curtis Ridge camp. In my twisted efforts to trim weight, I only
carried a sleeping bag liner (good to about 40 degrees) for a sleeping
bag, but I carried an 8mm video camera and a Walkman! Mallory
would turn over in his snowy grave if he knew how distorted modern
climbers have become. We carried one 11mm rope, two ice pickets,
and one ice screw. Why one ice screw? Brain damage!

Our plan was to camp the first night on Curtis Ridge right where you
got on the Carbon Glacier (7200). The next night we would be at
Thumb Rock (10,775) and the summit day we would descend to
Camp Shurman (9700) and then back to our ridge camp and back to
the car on the fourth day. This was to change slightly, but it was still
a four day climb for us -- my longest, most ambitious climb to date.

The hike parallels the lower Carbon Glacier drainage and then the
glacier itself. Earlier in the week, my friend in Portland had been
giving me dismal weather reports. A storm was expected on Thursday,
another on Friday, and a third over the weekend. Retreat due to
weather was a definite possibility which made the perfect sunny
weather all the more pleasant. We hiked under blue skies all the way
to base camp.

Lou and I were dragging a bit, but trying to keep up with horses like
Hardly and the Puffaw is a challenge on my best day. I rationalized it
to myself by claiming I was "saving myself for the real climbing." I
continued to "save myself" the entire way up and down. Without these
two guys setting the pace and breaking trail, I would have taken at
least an extra half a day and maybe another full day to complete the
trip. These guys are strong!

We hiked up the trail until it became obscured by snow at about 5000
feet. There wasn't a track for us and we wandered up the ridge on firm
snow. At one point we dropped down onto the Carbon Glacier itself.
This was a mistake. We eventually climbed back up onto the ridge but
not before taking a lunch break. Here the Loobster expounded upon
his giant chipmunk theory. He then realized that there were even more
incredible creatures for their size than the chipmunk. He volunteered
the flea for its jumping ability, but Hardly countered with the ant. Not
wanting to be one-upped by this quiet, maniacal climber, the Loobster
says, "Well, yes, but don't fleas have the biggest Schvanz-stooggers
for their size." Having conversation sink this low prompted us to
move on. We climbed back onto the ridge and walked across a
beautiful alpine tundra catching occasional glimpses of fat marmots.

Around 2:30 p.m. at 6600 feet on Curtis Ridge, we found a sandy,
sheltered campsite. We were adjacent to the snow, so we had easy
water access and sandy spot was so nice and warm that we decided to
camp here. We had planned on camping at 7200 feet just before
starting up the Carbon Glacier but decided we could make up the
additional 600 in short order. Heck, we were only going to Thumb
Rock the next day -- a little over 4000 feet.

While Loobster and Hardly put up the tents and started melting water,
Puffaw went up to scout the glacier access for the next day. I
promptly sat down, whipped out the video camera and started
shooting video of the others at work. Hey, this video camera idea
might get me out of some work...it might be worth its weight. The
camera also proved to be an ideal excuse to rest... "Hold on, you guys.
Gotta shoot some video. Tired? Not me. Just didn't want to miss this
shot. Yes, I guess we are only 100 feet from the last time I shot
video,but now the Loobster has his hat off and it totally changes the
ambience of the climb..."

Hardly had his shirt off and was wandering around in only a pair of
shorts. I couldn't help but think of my friend's warning of the dismal
weather. Our biggest worry at the moment appeared to be sunburn. In
fact, all four of us burnt the hell out of our lower lips. Last year we all
burnt the hell out of our noses and thought we were being much more
careful. Interesting that we always burn the same appendage...what a
team we are! Camp One lassitude had set in deeply on me and I
continued to do my part by resting up.

That evening the weather started moving in and quickly obscured our
beautiful view of Liberty Ridge. Soon it was raining like hell and
lightning shattered the sky. We dove into our two dome tents and
prayed for better weather in the morning. We were all blaming Hardly
for the weather because he was disappointed in how easy things had
been. He wanted an epic. Well it looked like his wish was coming true
and we verbally pummelled him until he relented and said that he was
satisfied with the storm and it could now go away. The next morning
dawned clear and beautiful. We were off by 6 a.m.

We only carried Hardly's pink VE-25 for shelter. The Loobster carried
a bivy bag and planned to sleep in it. We quickly gained the glacier
and immediately donned crampons as we had to climb a steep wall.
After crossing a few crevasses, we gained the center of the glacier and
followed a track of footsteps. As we trudged up the glacier, I reflected
on our attempt last year. I remembered postholing every step of the
way across this interminable glacier. Now I walked out of the tracks
because it was easier on the crisp snow.

We made great time up the glacier at about 1000 feet an hour. As we
traversed the ridge proper, we had to jump a gaping six foot wide
crevasse. I videoed as everyone jumped across, only the Puffaw
tumbling -- he choked under the pressure of being filmed. We took a
break to eat something just before getting on the ridge. The weather
remained perfect. Getting onto the ridge involved a bit of loose rock
climbing, but soon we were back on snow.We switchbacked up the
steep ridge, following a track of footsteps. Tom, who had led the way
up the glacier (because of his fascination with crevasses), turned over
the lead to Jim, and he us took up to Thumb Rock by 11 a.m.

Before reaching Thumb Rock, we had all started to think about
climbing on maybe to the summit. One problem was that both Lou
and I were dragging. We were both exhausted and collapsed down on
our pads and went to sleep. Jim and Tom fired up the stoves to melt
water. We decided to eat one of our dehydrated dinners to give us
strength and continue. We left Thumb Rock at 12:30 with me in the
lead.

Next up was the first of the three cruxes on the route. We had to go up
a steep couloir between two rock ribs. I delicately front point across
and up a short section of 70 degree ice and then onto extremely loose
vertical rock. As my crampons scraped across the rocks and I searched
for anything that was solid, I could feel my pack tugging at my
shoulders, trying to pull me off. Below was a hard, 50 degree snow
slope. I knew if I fell the others would have a hard time checking my
fall. I moved slowly and carefully, breathing hard but struggling to
concentrate. Eventually I made it into the gully above, but it was very
steep and there where no anchors. I braced my feet against some
rocks, plunged my axe in to the hilt and yelled, "On belay! Don't fall!"

As soon as Tom reached me, I ran out the rope further up and put him
on belay again as he belayed the Loobster up. We continued this way
until all of us were in the steep gully. I led on until the steep gully
ended depositing us on the ridge again. As the Loobster climbed up
out of the gully he says, "That was hairy. I was pretty scared as I
climbed that rock section, but I would have been terrified if I knew
what you were belaying off of!"

I continued in the lead until around 11,500 feet. At this point Tom
took over and, almost as if Tom had willed it once again, it started
snowing heavily. We pulled our shells out of our packs and continued
on. We now traversed around on the left side of the ridge for the first
time. We had to cross some steep sections of extremely loose rock --
basically a talus field with a two thousand foot drop if you slipped.
Once again we moved slow and carefully. The entire way up the
climb we simul-climbed on one rope.

We were now approaching the Black Pyramid -- the second crux. Jim
was now leading up very steep snow (45 - 50 degrees). Everything
was going fine (except for extreme fatigue from me) when Jim called
down that he was putting on his crampons (he had taken them off at
the top of the gully.) I had never taken mine off, but the others did and
we quickly strapped them on. As we resumed climbing, I immediately
found out why. What looked like snow was now water ice
camouflaged by a one inch coating of snow. All four of us, in one
long line, started front pointing up the steep face.

A hundred feet later, with all four of us on front points with no
protection in, Lou's crampons fall off. They are still attached to his
boot but dangling. Shit! I look up at Jim to see his left crampon has
also fallen off! Holy Shit! Jim quickly gets his crampon on as he has
step-in crampons. Lou has strap-on crampons (not any more!) and we
all stop climbing, perched on our front points waiting for Lou to get
them on. I plant my axe, clip in and pull off my pack to get my second
tool off and the ice screw out. I tell Tom to climb up to Lou and put
him on a tight belay. Lou plants his axe, clips in and struggles with
the crampon. It is 45 degrees, and to hack out a step in the hard ice
would take too long. At that point, the only thing holding us to the
mountain were three pairs of front points and four ice picks, all of
which were a quarter inch into the ice. Soon I had an eight inch ice
screw buried to the hilt and felt a lot better mentally, but my calves
(along with everyone else's) were burning and screaming in pain. I
wouldn't be able to hang on much longer. I didn't want to weight my
tool since it was only in a quarter inch, and a fall would have been
catastrophic. If Lou had fallen before I got the screw in, I don't think
we could have stopped him, and I don't know if the four of us would
have lived through it. I shudder when I think of it.

Without voicing our thoughts, everyone knew the score. Everyone
knew a fall would likely be death. Therefore, no one fell. The calves
hurt, but the alternative was unthinkable. Miraculously, Lou re-
attached the crampons, and we moved on. They would later fall off
again. My patience was running out. I wanted to scream. I think I did.
We eventually made it once again into hard snow after 400 feet of 45
degree water ice. This was definitely the crux of the climb. A friend
who had done this route a month earlier said this area was
unconsolidated snow...it had consolidated.

A half hour later we reached a less steep section of the ridge (far from
flat) where the two climbers we had spotted the day before were
resting. They had carved out a little platform to wait out the
snowstorm. Upon reaching this spot, my body collapsed completely.
My face and arms felt so fuzzy that I hardly had any sensation of
touch left. My head throbbed with a bad headache. I was losing it. Jim
noticed my state and asked if I was okay. I nodded no, and my team ,
heck, my friends, my partners swung into action to revive me. Tom
took my pack off and got my pad off. Jim fired up the stove and
started heating some water for hot chocolate and soup. Lou gave me
aspirins and started enlarging the platform. I had made the decision
for us: we were staying here tonight...at 13,300 feet on the north side
of Mt. Rainier.

It was about 6 p.m. when we reached the ledge and about 6:30 p.m.
when the two other climbers took off for the summit. We would see
their bivy platform just below the summit the next day. With some
rest, warmer clothes, and lots of hot liquids I was feeling a lot better
and helped with the platform construction. The real hero of the tent
platform was the Loobster. He seemed to be at least twice as efficient
as anyone else with the shovel. Eventually we had a platform big
enough for our tent and our packs. This is by far the most awesome
tent site I have ever seen. As the sun set on us perched on a tiny
platform on a steep ridge, it felt positively Himalayan. The view was
extraordinary. We made some dinner and collapsed into our bags.
Around 11 p.m. everyone had to get up and take a piss. Then Lou
gave up on the bivy bag idea and crawled in with us. That made four
of us in the VE-25 alternating head to foot. It was very crowded, and I
didn't sleep much, but it was warm!

We finally got out of the bags at 5 the next morning. Everything
outside was covered with snow and frozen solid. It took quite some
effort to pound the frozen gaiters into a malleable enough mass where
they could be put on. No sign on any tracks remained from the
climbers above us. Jim started the strenuous postholing at 6:30 a.m.,
and we all followed in his footsteps. Jim did an incredible job getting
us up the steep snow slope, and then Tom took over the lead as we
delicately wound our way around and over the crevasses of the
Liberty Cap glacier. We belayed each other (only the second time on
the whole route) as we crossed a precarious snow bridge. Then we
burst out onto a steep (50 degree) snow face and kicked steps up to the
top of the ridge. We had done it! Completed the Liberty Ridge. It was
9:30 a.m. as I videoed Lou climbing the last bits of the face. The view
was still clear (not for long), and we shook hands all around.

The work wasn't done yet though. A half an hour later we summitted
the Liberty Cap (14,100) in a complete white out. We now had to
cross the vast saddle to the Emmons Glacier descent route. We had
wanted to try for the summit of the Columbia Crest, but in our
weakened condition and in such poor visibility, our thoughts turned
instead to finding the right descent route.

At this point, Tom had completely run out of gas. His magnificent
push up the final portion of the Liberty Ridge had drained him of his
strength. The altitude was really getting to him. Lou and I were also
tired. Jim was a horse. A Clydesdale! Still as fresh as if the last two
days he had done nothing more than walk out to fetch the paper. Tom
and Jim had done 90% of the leading on the climb and had enabled
Lou and I to climb it in such timely fashion.

We blindly groped our way across the saddle using my altimeter and
compass for bearings. We stopped for about an hour to let Tom rest
and see if things would clear. They cleared up a bit and we continued
traversing the saddle. Eventually we met a track that would traverse
over to the Emmons Glacier descent route. At this point, Jim had a
proposal: "Let me go on ahead to where this track meets the descent
route. I will leave my pack there and go for the summit and meet you
there on my descent." Lou and Tom nodded approval, and I thought
deeply. I wanted the summit also, but was I strong enough? I decided
to go for it, and Jim and I unroped from Lou and Tom and set off.
Tom had already been to the summit of Rainier on a previous climb
and Lou elected to stay with Tom. He wouldn't leave him even at
Tom's request.

Keeping up with Jim was more than I could do, and I started to fade. I
met up with him at the descent route, and we ditched everything there.
We carried no cameras, no nothing. We had 700 vertical feet to go,
but there was a track to follow. Jim once again quickly got far ahead
of me. I just kept plodding along. At one point the clouds cleared a
bit, and I could see how far we had to go. I cried out in despair, "Jim!
Do you see that?" I was hoping he would say something like: "Wow,
that's too far. Let's go down." Of course he didn't. He just shrugged his
shoulders and bent to the task. Fifty minutes later Jim passed me on
the way down. He said I was only five or so minutes from the top. I
congratulated him and continued on. When I reached the summit there
was a euphoria that enveloped me. Every climber has felt this feeling
before. Of reaching a difficult goal when there was considerable doubt
of the outcome. This is one of the reasons we climb.

I stood on the flat summit in a complete whiteout enjoying the
experience of just being there. A view would have been nice, but it
didn't take anything away from that moment I had being alone on the
14,410 summit after two and a half days and more than 13,000 feet of
climbing. What a mountain!

The descent went smoothly as we slid on our butts down the trail of
footsteps. My ankles were killing me and would continue to cause
intense pain until I would reach the car the next day. Tom was once
again strong as soon as we started to descend. We reached Camp
Shurman (9700) around 5 p.m. We had planned to spend the night
here but elected to continue to our Curtis Ridge camp. We found St.
Elmos pass in a whiteout via our topo map and my altimeter. We
crossed the wide Winthrop Glacier and the interminable Curtis Ridge
and eventually made camp. The next day we hiked out in gorgeous
weather and Lou returned to California that evening. The rest of us
went for the pizza we had been dreaming about for four days and then
crashed at Tom's apartment.

In summary, this climb can be straight forward, or it can be VERY
difficult.. Conditions vary extremely within a month and maybe even
a week. If a trail of footsteps is there or you have to posthole the
glacier, how much ice, etc. these factors will greatly effect the nature
of this climb, and this climb is long! Awesome climb! Bring more
screws.

LIBERTY CRACK
The Liberty (someone up here really believes in liberty) Bell massif in
the North Cascades National Park is a smorgasbord of fabulous alpine
rock spires. The most impressive, not the highest, of which is Liberty
Bell itself. Its sheer 1200 East Face hangs over the North Cascade
Highway. When the Liberty Crack, which splits this face, was first
climbed this road did not exist. My hat is off to those climbers.

I had climbed Liberty Bell in 1989 with my girlfriend. We ascended
the classic Becky Route (5.5). I had returned a year later and climbed
two of adjacent spires and lusted after the Liberty Crack route. I had
hiked up to the base of the route and it looked awesome. Now, another
year later, I had returned to attempt it.

With Lou gone to return to his family in California, we were three
now. Or were we? Fully packed up in Tom's truck and just stopping
by REI to drop off the snowshoes, Tom turns to me and says, "Would
you guys be okay if I didn't come along?" Tom was having girlfriend
problems and felt, after agonizing internal debate, he had better stay
home and fight the fires of his burning relationship. He dropped Jim
and I at a rental car place; we wished each other good luck; and then
we were two.

We got a real late start on Monday due to this and didn't arrive up at
Liberty Bell until about 4 p.m. Liberty Bell is at the summit of
Washington Pass (I think...some pass) at around 5000 feet. Deep snow
covered every inch of the ground, but the weather was beautiful. We
decided to hike into the base of the climb to test the snow conditions
and fix a pitch, so, for the fifth day in a row, I pulled on my painful
ice boots and started trudging.

Conditions were fine. The snow was hard and we rarely fell through
and for the most part scampered over the surface like cats. It took
about 45 minutes to cover the 1000 vertical feet to the base of the
cliff. The snow here was at least 15 feet deep and there was a little
bergschrund where the snow hit the cliff. Anything dropped down
there would be forever lost. I did drop my watch on the second day
and was very lucky that it landed on the edge.

I started up the first pitch which is 4th class and found it to be much
shorter than the 100 feet our topo listed. This was undoubtedly due to
all the snow. I brought Jim up because I wasn't sure if I could combine
the two pitches and started up the second pitch which is rated A2. I
got myself into trouble a couple of times by freeclimbing into
difficulty and then struggling to get some pro in. I french-freed most
of the first half before turning to pure aid. I believe this pitch can be
freed in the upper 5.10 region if you are quick at placing pro. Maybe
because it was my first pitch of hard climbing in awhile, or maybe I
was knocked out of rhythm by scaring myself early, or maybe this
pitch is just plain hard, but I had quite a bit of trouble and took quite
some time. I had to stand up on a few dicey placements so I guess the
A2 rating is accurate. The pitch ends on a nice ten inch ledge and I
rested while Jim cleaned the pitch on jumars. Jim would end up
jugging most of the route.

By the time we rappelled off it was almost eight o'clock. We glissaded
and stumbled back to the car and then drove to a trailhead parking lot
about a mile away. You couldn't get into the parking lot of course
because it was full of snow, but you could get the car off the road and
there was a snow free area for our tent. He needed to make a decision
about what to do the next day. Could we make in one long day with
only the first aid pitch fixed? As it turns out we could have made it,
but decided on the prudent course of fixing a couple more pitches the
next day and then going for it on the following day. With this decision
made, we ate a nice dinner over our stove and turned in for a long
sleep.

We slept in the following day and took things slow since we only had
two pitches to do today. We started hiking in at 11 a.m. and were at
the top of our rope and climbing before noon. The next pitch (3rd) is
the infamous Lithuanian Lip. This is a very impressive ten foot roof.
A couple of reachy placements and I was at the roof. There is a fixed
sling, a bolt, and a wired nut already there and I quickly reach the lip.
Here I diligently placed small wired nuts until I was over the lip. A
fifi hook is absolutely indispensable here as standing in aiders with no
wall to push against is very difficult and strenuous. The pitch
continues up the crack for awhile and then moves left following a line
of bolts. Here you must do some free climbing to reach the next bolt
about fifteen feet away. It isn't too difficult, but of course the last
move is the hardest. Once at this bolt it is a simple bolt ladder to the
belay which is a nice six inch ledge. I say "nice" because it was flat
and our topo told us that there would be a number of hanging belays.
As it turned out, there are NO hanging belays on the entire route.
Each belay has at least a small stance. This came as a great relief to
me and my waist. I learned to hate hanging from my harness on El
Cap.

Jim jugged the pitch and used a vital technique that we would both
employ the next day ascending the fixed ropes. The problem is
jugging over the lip of the roof. This roof is very
square. The underside is completely horizontal and the wall above is
vertical, so the edge makes a perfect 90 degree angle. Swaying in the
breeze below the roof one wonders how he is going to get over the
roof. With his weight on the roof the jumar just hits the roof.
Normally when this problem happens you can push away and jerk the
jumar over the edge. Here Jim had nothing to push against. So he
clipped a sling into the fixed piece at the edge of lip and stood in it.
The effect of taking his weight off of the rope catapulted his jumar
over the roof. He then moved it up further and when he sat down on
the jumar it was over the lip. Then he reached down and retrieved the
sling.

The next pitch is rated A3 and should have been the technical crux of
the climb. It wasn't that bad because a few VERY dicey pieces were
already fixed. I weighted at least three fixed pieces that had me
baffled how they could possibly hold my weight. I stood up so slowly,
holding my breath, expecting to take a winger at any moment, but
they held. One piece was a big stopper hammered into a shallow
groove -- a makeshift bashie that didn't bash too well. It was 90% out
of the groove. I also placed some friends straight up under a
crumbling roof - scary! The top part of the pitch is a nice jam crack
and I ended up freeing the last 20 feet.

Once again, Jim cleaned the pitch and we started our retreat, fixing
our ropes as we went. All the belays up to this point were equipped
with bolts and slings. I backed up the first and third belays since there
were available cracks. Getting back to the belay underneath the
Lithuanian Lip was a bit of a challenge since you hang out from the
wall so far, but I was able to reach the wall with my foot and get
myself swinging. We left all our gear at the base of the climb and
hiked out for some lunch. These two pitches went quite well and it
was only a little past 2 p.m.

We ate lunch at a scenic overlook across that way that afforded a
prefect view of our route. I noticed a couple of guys studying a
guidebook and peering at "our route." I asked them what route they
were going to do and they responded with the likely answer: "Liberty
Crack." "We are planning to do that route tomorrow also," I said.
"Looks like a race to the start," he challenged. "A race you will lose,"
I said, "for we have four pitches fixed already." This subdued his
challenging attitude and he milked me for information on the aid
pitches. As it turns out they were from back East and were on a
climbing trip also AND they had also just climbed Liberty Ridge on
Rainier. We watched them approach the climb the next day from our
vantage point eight pitches up. We didn't see them again.

We went to bed early planning on a 3:45 a.m. wakeup. We jumped up
the next morning, took down the tent, ate breakfast and were hiking
by 5 a.m. We elected to hike in this time in our tennis shoes since
everything had to be carried up over the top and out the other way.
We also took an ice axe with us because we knew the descent was a
very steep snow filled gully. This proved to be essential as we needed
to do some ice axe belays down the treacherous gully.

We were jugging by 5:30 a.m. The three ropes we had fixed were
Tom's 11mm rope on the 4th pitch, Jim's 9mm rope on the 1st and 2nd
pitches, and my 8.8mm over the Lithuanian Lip. We both had
nightmares the night before thinking about jugging this thin thread up
to that awesome roof. It literally kept us both tossing and turning.
Why didn't we have beefier ropes? Didn't think about it until it was
too late. Why the thinnest rope over the roof? It just worked out that
way. We had the lead rope at the top so we just left it there and Jim's
rope was fixed from the day before. Anyway things worked out fine.
It was just psychologically tough.

I started leading the 5th pitch around 6:30 a.m. I was dragging two
ropes and we put the third in our pack. We carried two quarts of
water, some food, our shoes, and a jacket, along with our ice axe. This
pitch is supposedly 5.8 A1 or 5.9. There are two pitches with this
rating and they are complete bullshit. Each pitch has solid 5.10 on it.
Each pitch I had to aid the crux. This pitch is very vertical, very
strenuous hand jamming for 120 feet. The crux is a bulge in the crack
with no solid jams. I stood in a sling to get by. Once again a nice
belay and Jim jugged.

The next pitch is a very wide, awkward, strenuous 5.8+
crack/chimney/offwidth system. This pitch is VERY long (150+ feet.)
After seeing me huff and puff up this long pitch Jim elected to jumar
once again. The seventh pitch is the only loose pitch on the climb. It
heads up a 5.7 corner to an uncomfortable belay on bad anchors in
loose cracks. Jim free climbed this pitch to clean it.

The 8th pitch is the Block pitch and it is half A2 and half 5.8 and 5.9
friction climbing. This pitch is long and circuitous and I had massive
rope drag by the time I reached the belay.
The pitch starts with some free climbing and then you have to aid
around this giant block in the dihedral. There were a number of fixed
pieces here. The upper section is a slick dihedral that isn't that steep
and involves friction climbing. The crack in the dihedral only opens
up to accept protection every 15 feet so free climbing is mandatory. I
would yank up a bunch of rope and then try to make it to the next
placement before rope drag stopped my progress. What a battle!

The next pitch involves a difficult 5.9+ move (A1) over a bulge and
then a super exposed 5.6 traverse. Jim had to free this pitch because
the traverse did not allow frequent protection. This put us at a great
ledge with a tree. I tried to get out of the sun that was quickly
dehydrating us.
We drank heartily here and ate some. Jim volunteered to lead the 5.6
chimney above, maybe because he knew what a bitch it would be with
the pack on. It was.

The 11th pitch is the other "5.8 A1 or 5.9" pitch. This heads up a left
facing dihedral that is pretty moderate liebacking with the occasional
5.8 or 5.9 move. The upper 20 feet is very difficult and I elect to aid
it. At one point I attach my aider to a branch of a tree. It bends as I
stand on it, but holds. The belay is in a slot just left of the dihedral,
but the pro is still over in the crack. This makes things a bit awkward.

The final hard pitch starts with 40-50 feet of vertical 5.8+ hand crack.
This puts me in a 5.6 ramp system that we follow for two pitches and
ends on a big ledge on the shoulder of the summit. We can descend by
traversing this ledge to some rappel slings so we leave our pack here
and climb the remaining two pitches to the summit. Most of this is
third class, but there are a couple of class five sections. On the descent
we find an easier way down, but still a fifth class.

We shake hands on the summit, read the register and relax a bit. It is
about 3 p.m. Returning to our packs we ready ourselves for descent.
It is two rappels to the notch and we have trouble pulling the rope
down on the last one. After much tugging, I have to climb back up to
free the rope. Recommendation: only do sling rope rappels. The rock
is very grabby and has lots of cracks for ropes to get stuck in. Now we
cautious creep down the snow filled gully. If it wasn't for the ice axe
this would be very dangerous. A fall on the snow would go unchecked
until you crashed into the rocks at the bottom. Once out of the gully it
is a sloppy hike back to the car through the snow. Things are very soft
on this side and everything is melting under the strong sun. We have
to cross scores of streams. I fell in one of the larger streams when the
snow I was standing on collapsed into the freezing water. It was a
painful defrosting for my feet. We made the road by 5:30 p.m. and I
walked back to get the car.

We headed down to Marblemount to eat and decide what to do next.
After dinner we decided to drive up the road to Forbidden Peak and
camp. The next day we would see how close we could get to the
trailhead for we knew the road was closed due to slides at some point.
If we couldn't get close enough for a reasonable approach we would
think about alternative climbs. For now we wanted to eat and sleep.

WEST RIDGE OF FORBIDDEN PEAK
The West Ridge of Forbidden Peak is not a particular difficult climb,
but it is in such a beautiful setting that every climber should do it.
Boston Basin is a magical place of huge glaciers and rocky peaks, but
this nirvana is guarded by a steep, unimproved, hard to follow (in
early season) climber's "trail." This is definitely the toughest
approached I have ever done on something that is still called a "trail."
The trail involves 3000 feet of climbing through dense forests and
involved three difficult stream crossings, one in which we had to do
some wading.

We didn't think we would get this route because of reports that the
road was out and we couldn't get in there. This was in fact true, but
repairs had been made and we could drive to within three miles and
1000 vertical feet of the trailhead. Since it was only an extra hour or
so of hiking, and since we met three climbers heading into Boston
Basin in the parking lot, we decided to follow them up and go for it.
The climbers would be attempting the same route. Would this create
problems?

We dumped our gear across the gravel parking lot and started packing
for yet another climb. The day after completing a Grade V rock climb,
I was approaching another major route. With this in mind, we tried to
lighten the loads. Neither of us brought cameras or helmets. Since we
were only going in for one night we brought a minimal amount of
food and clothes. I bet the weather would be warm and only brought a
light pile jacket with a windproof coating. I did not bring any rain
gear! That is a huge gamble when climbing in the Cascades, but the
weather was too beautiful (and remained so.)

We started hiking after the other three climbers (who had a 45
minutes head start on us) around 1 p.m. We caught and passed the
three climbers before we got to the trail head, an hour up the closed
road. When we passed the other climbers (hereafter called Huey,
Duey, and Louie), Huey claimed they were "making a sock
adjustment." This must be a complex procedure for us to have caught
them so soon.There were definitely impassable sections (for cars) on
the road.

Shortly after passing Huey and company, we stopped to drink and fill
our water bottles and as we did the gang passed us. About 15 minutes
later we passed them again. This time Duey had his boots off.
"Another sock adjustment?", I asked.

We battled our way up steep hillsides grabbing branches to pull
ourselves up, waded streams, lost and re-found the trail until finally
the trail has disappeared completely underneath the snow. We had
been hiking in our tennis shoes to save our feet and they were totally
soaked and frozen by now from the snow and water. We switched into
our boots and headed straight up hill. My altimeter told us that we
only had 500 vertical feet to go. These altimeters come in real handy
sometimes. After 300 vertical feet we burst out into the Boston Basin.
We decided to camp down in the trees where we noticed a snowfree,
flat spot, but stayed up in the Basin for a couple hours just enjoying
the view and the sunshine. Huey, Duey, and Louie popped out of the
trees just a half hour behind us and they continued up another 500
vertical feet to the recommended campsite. Once again, we thought
we could make up the difference pretty quickly.

We wanted to get an early start in order to get ahead of Huey and
friends, so we arose at 4 a.m. The guidebook says it should take six
hours up and four hours down from high camp (which we were 500
feet below), so we figured if we started by 5 a.m. we could be back in
camp by 3 or 4 p.m. and still make it back to the car. We left camp
just before five and twenty minutes later we passed by Huey's camp.
No one was stirring. Curious. We would have expected then to at least
be up by now. Another half hour later we found out why. We could
see three climbers up in the snow gully! They we way ahead of us!
We found out later that they left camp at 3:45 a.m.

This climb involves crossing a glacier to a very steep snow gully. The
gully is followed for 500 vertical feet until it hits the rock ridge. The
West Ridge itself is a sharp, blocky ridge about 1500 feet long that
gains an additional 500 vertical feet to the summit. We carried with us
three screws (never used) and four pieces of rock protection (never
used.) The climbing is rated 5.4.

We roped up as we zig-zagged up the glacier to the gully. Here we
had to weave around crevasses and cross the bergschrund. This
involved some very steep (70 degrees) snow climbing. Fortunately the
snow was absolutely perfect for step kicking and a planted axe shaft
felt very solid. I led the way up the snow gully which also was very
steep up top (70-75 degrees.) Here we benefitted from Huey's step
kicking. This greatly reduced our effort. Maybe it wasn't such a bad
idea to follow these guys...

When I got to the top of the gully, I got up with the Huey gang. They
had switched over to rock shoes and were just starting up the loose
rock gully to the ridge proper. I climbed up onto the rock and belayed
Jim up. Here we also donned rock shoes and set off up the gully. The
weather was now moving in. Clouds obscured our views frequently,
but didn't look too threatening.

I ran out the rope and Jim started climbing. We would simul-climb the
entire ridge up and down without putting in any protection. The ridge,
obviously, wasn't very hard. We passed Huey's team almost
immediately (thanking them for the nice steps) and zipped up to the
summit, reaching it a little past 8 a.m. The wind was blowing fairly
brisk and we didn't spend much time here. On the descent we passed
Huey's team again barely above where they were before. They were
belaying every pitch and climbing one at a time. The leader was
halfway out and had three pieces of protection in as we simul-climbed
down right next to him. This felt a bit strange. It seems to me that you
should be a faster, better climber before coming up to do this climb
than these guys were. On the other hand, the weather was fine and
they would probably make the climb and descend before dark. To
their credit, they did get an early start, but if the weather had turned
bad on them they would have been in trouble. Speed is necessary for
safety on alpine climbs.

We retraced our steps to the top of the snow gully and decided to
rappel off the slings that were placed here because of the steepness of
the upper gully. This involved rappelling over a 90 degree edge, down
a 30 foot vertical rock wall, and jump over the bergschrund all while
wearing crampons and carrying an ice axe. This actually went pretty
smooth except that I almost didn't make it over the bergschrund when
my rappel device locked up on me as I jumped. We painstakingly
reversed the snow gully back to the glacier. Descending this snow
gully was probably the crux of the climb.

After a quick glissade down the glacier we were back in camp by 10
a.m. The roundtrip had taken us just five hours and the "Becky Time"
for the roundtrip was ten hours! My, we must be getting in shape.
Feeling cocky as hell, we packed up and were back at the car by 1
p.m. and on our way to some nice, fatty, fast food!

We drove back to Seattle that night and called everyone we knew for
a place to stay and no one was home. We decided to go see a movie
and then call again. Being a Friday night the movies were crowded,
but remarkably we got seats with no one around us. Think it had
something to do with the fact that we hadn't showered in five days...?

In summary, the trip was very successful. All the climbs were
outstanding. The Liberties are both very challenging. The weather was
great and the company was better. Gosh I love this climbing thing!
--
-- Bill Wright
-- Mentor Graphics "What a good place to be"
-- San Jose, CA -- Housemartins